Angel in Flames
by PinkWhirlWind
Summary: Weiss goes to Russia to stop a bio terroist group.. and Youji's at risk of betraying his true feelings
1. Default Chapter

Angel in Flames by Nix Winter  
  
Notes: This is being written for fun, may or may not be canon. I imagine Youji and Aya this way. And I'll warn you now, this story may become more original that fan fic. For the moment though, I'm just playing. Oh, and Gluhen is not taken into account in this story, just the early part of WK, not the OAV, or the dramatic series. Youji did kill Neu.. Ne what a mess... Just read and see if you like it. If you like this, you can check out my website too; onepinkrose.com  
  
Angel in Flames  
  
Biological weapons are not used by sane people. They are not sold by the sane. Often those who fight against the creation, sales of these weapons, these warriors aren't sane either. The organization Tenshi no Hono'o had it's birth in Japan, in a theft from the University of Tokyo, the grusome murder of one of the most prominent bioengineers in the whole world.  
  
Terror warning levels rose around the world when the group that stole her work let the world know just what it was they'd stolen. Their demands were clear and impossible. Technology was to be abandoned. No more factories, no more fossil fuel, no more country boundaries, that was all they wanted. A return to nature, even if it cost half the world their lives. The bioengineering secret they'd stolen would allow them to enforce this. They were very smart. Weiss was just more ruthless.  
  
This lead the angel of flame to a Russian relocation and to Kudou Youji smiling for all he was worth as he handed over a Russian passport at Russian immigration. Ken was also coming through as a returning Russian. Aya and Omi were going in as a French journalist and a Japanese tourist. They'd all come on the same flight, however, from Narita.  
  
Youji's smile slowly faltered. The girl across the counter, looked at his passport photo, at him, back at the passport. "Is this you, Vladimir Trosky?  
  
"Yes," Youji said, using his very best learned Russian. "Passport photos are always bad."  
  
She snorted, leaned back to look at him over the top of her glasses. "Are you really 182 cm?"  
  
The side of Youji's nose twitched. "Yes." He wanted to ask her if she were really stupid, but that probably wouldn't get him in to the country sooner. "Are you really a red head?"  
  
She flipped through the fake passport, looking at the various visa, entry stamps. "Why did you go to Paris?"  
  
He leaned forward, elbows on her counter, pulled his sun glasses down with his middle finger. "I went to Paris to have sex with beautiful women. Isn't that why people go to Paris?"  
  
In English, she snapped, "Asshole." It even sounded vaguely American in tone.  
  
He slipped his glasses off, gave her the full force of his green eyes, looked at her as if she were the most important person in the world. "I just want to come home, where the women are worth making love to."  
  
She blushed, scribbled a number on a paper, tucked that in his passport and handed it back. "Welcome home, comrade."  
  
Smoothly, he took his passport, tucked it into his black leather jacket, and walked forward in to mother Russia as if he really belonged there, six foot tall white Russian with stolen jade eyes.  
  
They'd all arranged to meet in the hotel bar, which was fine for Youji. This was Russia, far from home, far from all the old familiar ghosts that kept him in line with the lies of his life. Here, so far from home, walking into this mission, he was wanting to keep his secrets. Kudou Youji was just too arrogant to really think the bio-terrorists they were there to kill were much of a threat. The worst they could do was kill him. It was someone else that could steal the secrets of his heart and make him live again. Living just hurt too damn much. Besides, Kudou Youji did not like guys. He didn't. Yeah. 


	2. Misunderstanding

Angel in Flames 2/? By Nix Winter  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Youji or Omi, Weiss Kreuz. I do own the story. I do love feedback.  
  
Youji decided he'd be late. It wasn't as if any of the others would be particularly surprised. He'd been the last one through customs and he'd done his best to flirt up every pretty, or passable woman between his seat on the plane and the counter of the hotel they were all staying in. It was even possible that Ken had assumed he was going to spend some time with the brunette he'd shared the taxi into St. Petersburg with.  
  
He'd seen the look Ken had given him, half way between annoyance and a high five. Sex. Youji had sex everyday. They all knew that. He stared into the mirror on his bathroom wall, pressed the cheap white plastic razor to his skin, drew it down, cutting away honey colored stubble. He knew he had sex everyday, by himself, in the shower, in the bed, knee bent holding the sheet up. He pressed his lips tightly together and shaved his upper lip, watching the razor take away shaving cream, and not quite able to look himself in the eyes. He knew what he was thinking about with one knee bent and his hand taking care of certain issues that he'd never be able to deal with any other way.  
  
What did he think about? Smiles, too practical organization, school books, dear god in heaven, and a gentle voice that melted down walls like sunshine slipping through glass when it talked to him, Youji-kun, these were the things that flickered trough his mind. His jaws tightened, self-disgust mixing around in his soul, as he started to shave the other side. At home, he'd gotten these thoughts trimmed down to those moments when he was alone, taking care of certain masculine tasks. He didn't know what it was about Russia, or maybe just being out of Japan that put his defenses in ruin.  
  
Omi was still a teen-ager, only 18, and much to good to get involved, or even touched by, Youji paused in his punishing thoughts and forced himself to look into his own green eyes, to see what was there when he looked, Asuka's ghost standing behind him, the echoing soundtrack of his grandmother berating his beloved mother for having given birth to a fag, a fucking fag. He hadn't been able to speak to his mother after that. She'd died in a plane crash before she could make it home, to pick him up from his grandmother's house. He'd never been able to give Asuka what she'd wanted, had not even been able to tell her that he was gay. The razor nicked him, taking a bit of skin as well as his stubble and he threw it into the sink, pressing his thumb to his bleeding cheek.  
  
"Idiot," his grandmother's voice snapped at him from his memory.  
  
It was an odd feeling, and maybe it was Russia, but he winked at Asuka's ghost, who disappeared without comment, agreed with his grandmother. He had to stay away from Omi, far away, he thought, as he picked the razor back up. Or he was going to betray his feelings, contaminate the boy because some damn queer had fallen in love with him.  
  
His mobile phone tinkled and he picked it up, razor and phone in one hand. "Moshi moshi."  
  
Omi's voice glowed through the phone. Youji's towel twitched. "Youji-kun! You're late! We ordered a steak for you! Beef is too cheap here right now!"  
  
Youji reached around and took the razor into his left hand. He tried to adjust his towel, then just tossed it into the tub. "Might be radioactive, uh? I'm on my way, just needed a shower."  
  
There was a pause, unusual and uncomfortable. Youji scratched the back of his head, then threw the razor down and grabbed a wash cloth to get the shaving cream out of damp caramel hair. It was their secure channel, that could only be used by their four phones and Manx's. Digital and crystal clear, it still should not have been able to convey the irritation in Omi's voice, frustration maybe? "I didn't mean to interrupt, Youji. You might want to turn on the TV in your room. I assume you're in your room. Our target has released new demands. I think the target you took down in our last encounter was the leader. The demands have changed."  
  
Efficient little leader, Youji thought, smiling. No one he'd trust his life too better. Naked, except for a bit of shaving cream, he left the bathroom and turned on the TV. Breaking news interrupts were the same, around the world, he thought. Secret police from every major state in the world was probably hunting this group.  
  
The CNN reporter was saying that terror alert levels were raised to red in Washington D.C., that the FBI had obtained credible information that the city would be hit with a major bio terror weapon within twenty-four hours. This was supposedly related to the theft of cutting edge research from the University of Tokyo, though the Japanese government was disavowing any knowledge of bio weapon research anywhere in Japan. Relations between Washington and Tokyo were becoming tenser by the minute.  
  
Youji sat down on the bed. "Omi."  
  
"It's bad, isn't it Youji?" There was another pause and the boy who was a Taketori, but wasn't, who wasn't really a boy anymore, whispered, "Youji."  
  
The tall blond let himself fall back on the bed, close his eyes. "We'll catch them, Omi," Youji promised. It was the being far from home, Youji decided, that was what made Omi's voice sound so vulnerable, so outside the boxes and rules of their lives, so like a voice he could swallow whole and just bath in. "Omi, I wasn't sleeping with anyone, just now, you know? I just wanted a shower and some time to think."  
  
"You don't have to explain," Omi said, but Youji could almost swear there was some relief in that voice. "I know you like women. I guess it's relaxing."  
  
"No," Youji said, laying an arm over his eyes, as if that could shield him from Asuka's ghost and the echoes of his past. "It's not like that, Omi. At least I'm not a fucking queer, uh?"  
  
Terse, now that voice could have made an ice sculpture. "At least you're not a fucking queer." All business now, polite, but frosty enough to make Youji draw his feet up onto the bed, curl in on himself emotionally like he'd been hit in the gut. "Here is an address I want you to check out. The quicker we catch these people and save this queer damn planet the faster we can go home. I don't know why things should feel different here, anyway. This place I want you to check out, it's a club. So dress, well, like you always do, Kudou."  
  
"Omi?" Youji bite his lip, paused. He wanted to ask if he'd offended Omi in some way, to ask Omi to say his name nicely again, just one more time. "Omi."  
  
"What?" Omi's voice was strained now, emotional and Youji didn't know why. "Just be careful. Take some condoms with you. Even in Russia you got to be careful what you catch."  
  
The connection went dead and Youji thought he could just turn to black oil and soak into the bed. It was too much. The older Omi got, the longer he knew him, the more he liked him, the more he loved him. Youji knew very well what happened to people he loved. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you, Omi-kun." 


	3. Ouch

Angel in Flames 3/? By Nix Winter  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Youji or Omi, Weiss Kreuz. I do own the story. I do love feedback. Check out my original at onepinkrose.com  
  
Angel in Flames  
  
"So did you tell him?" Ken asked, a finger trailing around the rim of his bloody mary.  
  
"No." Omi sat back down at the table he shared with Aya and Ken. The conversation with Youji had happened in the bathroom. "At least he's not a 'fucking queer'."  
  
Aya turned his head sharply away, picked up his virgin rum and coke. It was the only movement that betrayed his concern, discomfort for his friends.  
  
Ken rolled his eyes, took a drink that left tomato juice over his upper lip. "I'm telling you. Youji's not straight. I know," he stressed the last word as if it were a ball he wanted to put in a goal, "that he's got a thing for you. I know it."  
  
"Well, don't you tell him. I couldn't stand it if he treated me differently, if he despised me for," Omi planted both elbows on the table, balanced his chin on his palms between, "for well, you know, liking him."  
  
"Is he coming down or not?" Aya asked coldly.  
  
"Not," Omi said, all the energy draining out of him. "I sent him to that club."  
  
"That was a waste of resources," Aya criticized. "We have a job to do, an important one. This is not a good time for either of you to be controlled by hormones."  
  
"I know," Omi said, laying his head down on the table. He took a deep breath, then sat back up. "You're right, Aya-kun. We need to focus on this mission. Maybe I am possessed by some ghost of a gay man who died gruesomely under Stalin?"  
  
Now it was Aya's turn to roll his eyes. He leaned forward, holding his drink in one hand, as if it had the power to numb something. "If we don't find this terrorist group, and the world goes up like one big virus, I'll tell Youji, myself, that you want to get screwed. Hell, Omi, focus on this job, will you? We each have goals to accomplish and being out here in the land of the Czars and comrades is not paying well enough for me to want to stay too long. Let's just find this woman with the stolen data and get out of here."  
  
Ken took another drink, then a slow breath, thinking that Russia was having an odd effect on Aya too. "It's just exotic here, Aya, you know? Makes things seem more romantic. This is really out of the scope of our missions, but we all accepted this one. Besides, we've actually seen her. It should make it easier, yeah? I wish we were back in Tokyo. I would be so much easier!"  
  
"Well, we're not," Aya snapped. "We're lost in St. Petersburg where the gays whine because they can't have the straights. I'm going out to see what I can find out. You two try not to blow someone just because he's a tall blond, uh?"  
  
Omi's mouth was open, eyes wide like big black eyed daisies. Ken reached over to pick up and sniff Aya's drink, to see if there really was something not virgin in there. He gave it a taste, as he watched their swordsman stalk off across the dance floor, eyes of both genders following him like little fish after the current. "Vodka and cherry coke. Drunk Aya, loose in St. Petersburg. Who cares about bio-terrorists?" Ken snickered, then finished off Aya's drink. "You should just go find that tall blond and blow him before Aya finds him and runs him through."  
  
Omi closed his mouth, opened it again, blinked. "Aya wants to stab Youji? Why? Why is Aya angry at Youji?"  
  
"Look, Omi," Ken said, licking Aya flavored vodka and coke from his lip, "We're out of our league, chasing these people. At home, we had a chance. I don't know what we're doing in Russia. This is a big dog game, not meant for little boys from Tokyo."  
  
Omi frowned, eyes narrowed now, that look of determination on his face. "This problem started in Tokyo, and we're going to finish it. You go sober up. I'm going to find Youji and," he paused, relaxed a little, "And clear the air. Then we're all going to find our targets and deal with them like we do. We are Weiss, Tokyo or St. Petersburg, we are still Weiss."  
  
"Oh Omi," Ken whispered, picking up his own drink. "You just tell me what to do, I'll do it, okay?"  
  
"Go back to the room. Shower, get sober. I'll call you." Omi commanded. It was his vision, his faith in Weiss that had brought them to St. Petersburg, and he would see to it that they finished this mission, that he found his way to finish this personal mission of his. He was just standing up to walk away when his phone rang. "Tsukiyono," he snapped.  
  
"Hey ya, Omi," Youji said in English, deep voice holding a bit of a smile, a bit of apologetic flirt.  
  
"Kudou," Omi said, eyes still narrow as he made his way around the side of the dance floor, towards the elevator at the back of the door.  
  
"Oh, Omi-kun," Youji teased, laying on a bit more flirt, a bit of baroque sweet in his voice. "Don't be angry at me. I don't have a problem with homosexuals. Are you angry at me?"  
  
Omi closed his eyes, as the elevator door closed, knowing if he didn't respond, that Youji would keep talking. In his imagination, he let himself be a Russian Prince, Alexi maybe, and he could command the tall blond assassin come to him, to kneel before him.  
  
"Look, Omi, really, I didn't mean to offend you. Do you have a friend that's queer or something?"  
  
"Say my name again," Omi said, fingers blindly searching for the stop car button. "Just say my name."  
  
"Tsukiyono Omi," Youji said, less sure of himself now, "Omi?"  
  
"No, my birth name." The elevator car stopped, jerking a little bit.  
  
"Takatori Mamaru?"  
  
"Yeah. He's gay."  
  
"Who is?" Youji said, confused, "Wait, I think I have an id on the woman. I'm taking a pic, receive it, okay?"  
  
Omi opened his eyes and watched the photo write itself line by line on the screen of his phone. It was her. He started the car again. Dialed the second line out to Manx, for positive id. "That's her. Follow her."  
  
"Hey, Omi, Mamaru," Youji paused, the tiny camera in his glasses tracking his line of sight as he followed the girl across the club he was at, "Your friend, this guy that's gay. You're close to him?"  
  
The girl danced right up against this big Russian guy, spiky blond hair and muscular arms that might be able to pop a soccer ball like a nut in a vice between bicep and forearm. The girl nodded in Youji's direction. The guy looked right at him. Youji snapped another pic and transmitted the still to Omi. "Youji, get out of there."  
  
"Ne, Omi. Track me." His last word turned into a snarl, and the camera in his glasses moved too fast to get a clear image. What formed next was Youji's white tee-shirt, skin tight, showing off his tight belly, and white cloth soaking up red, so red that Omi didn't recognize it as blood immediately. "Owww," filtered across their connection, Youji's voice, gravely with pain and anger. "Bombay, Balinese is a fag."  
  
Youji coughed. Blood splattered over his arm, up onto his glasses.  
  
"I'll find you!" Omi said, gripping the phone, the rail on the elevator tightly, hating that he'd ever admitted to himself he wanted Youji, loved Youji.  
  
The movement of the camera went fast again. When it held still long enough to transmit again, he caught an image of Youji on the floor, a big combat boot on his face, blood all over his chest. A high heeled shoe stepped in front of the glasses Youji had been wearing, hiding his camera in. The other foot came down on them, cutting the connection. 


	4. The Worst Ouch

Angel in Flames 3/? By Nix Winter  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Youji or Omi, Weiss Kreuz. I do own the story. I do love feedback. Check out my original at onepinkrose.com  
  
Warning! This is was a very intense scene! YOUJI TORTURE! It's not nice.. very high angst. I'll spoil it for you now though, I don't write death fics, except for that one original. Anyway! This is a rough chapter! Read at your own risk. It is very much Rated R, as one can't actually see anything and there's no sex and all..  
  
Angel in Flames  
  
"It is people like you who make the world a dangerous place." She said it with a vicious disgust edging the words.  
  
Youji reached for his face, for his glasses, even though he knew they were gone, wide solid straps held his arms though. It took him a minute more to realize his arms were out to the sides, like a crucifix. Oh, man! "Oh fuck me," he moaned.  
  
Something stabbed into his side, sharp and firy. For a moment it held his whole attention, as if his whole being were right there at his side, every nerve in existance was focus there as some hard and unforgiving moved around inside him without the least hesitation for the agony it left in it's trail. The straps cut into his arms as he tightened, into ankles though he didn't have the mind power to notice. His scream vented some of the pain, poured it out his soul for as long as he had air in his lungs.  
  
A hand hit his cheek, hard enough to add stars to the general misery and he stopped screaming only because of lack of air. "Shut up, will you?" A man said, in Japanese, with a thick Russian accent. "Marika is trying to get my bullet out of your kidney and your screaming is distracting her."  
  
"It's actually only nicked the kidney. Try to relax. I hadn't got anymore pain killer to give you, but I am nearly finished. It's useful that you're awake, Vladimir." The next movement of whatever tool she used inspired another full throated scream from Youji.  
  
When he lay there panting, fingers twitching, wishing he could see how big a whole she'd made in him, he tried to sort out some clear thought, some organized mental resistance, but couldn't get farther than thinking about how big the hole was, how long it would take him to die.  
  
"What is your name?" She barely brushed the end of something long and hard against some raw part of his flesh, just barely enough to make him groan. "Real name."  
  
"Asshole," he groaned. It's a damn shame to tell the truth and still get kicked. When he finished screaming this time, his throat hurt, raw, burning, like he'd thrown up.  
  
"Name?"  
  
"Youji."  
  
"Is that a first name or a last name?"  
  
"Kudou Youji."  
  
"Okay, Mr. Youji. We're making progress. Who is Omi?"  
  
"Don't know," he said. Blood ran from his wrists as he slowly came back to his senses after that. There was a nice place in between, nice black and floating.  
  
"Aya?"  
  
"Some chick I screwed once," he lied. Aya was poetry in motion, the high arch of red and violet, a living sword with a bleeding heart, he thought, losing his thoughts in memories of the swordsman, of lethal beauty. Aya. Aya the untouchable.  
  
"Are you in love with him? This flower of a sword?" She asked as she drew a sharp line up his belly, slicing skin, but it was a welcome distraction from the ball of agony at his side. "I've never gotten such poetry out of a man I was torturing before. Want me to carve his name in your skin?"  
  
Yeah, he thought, anything to keep away from the pain at his side. What had he done to deserve this?  
  
Lines, sharp fiery lines traced over his skin, but he had no comprehension of what they meant, if anything. The room felt so cold. Distantly, he heard her say to turn him over. God he was glad too. He really wanted them to leave the front of him alone.  
  
Her voice purred at his ear. "Who sent you to the club?"  
  
"Omi," Youji whispered, hating the taste of blood in his mouth.  
  
She sponged his mouth with a little sponge on a stick, wiping away copper and leaving a lemon glycerin flavor. Gentle fingers pulled sweaty, dirty hair out of his face, pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, washed his face. Breathing became a little easier and he didn't try to fight as they strapped his arms down again, legs. Odd the straps were right on his skin. Fuck. Those were his favorite pants. "Who is Omi?" She asked.  
  
"Don't know," he said, drifting in the relative comfort.  
  
"Are you in love with Omi?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"You don't want this to happen to Omi, do you?" She asked, illustrating with a long line of fire down his back, outraging nerves on both sides of the cut. "You have to tell us where he is, so we can protect him. Do you know what flay means?"  
  
Yeah, Youji knew what flay meant. He started talking about his mother, about how she'd loved him and supported him, about how she'd known he was gay and how she'd died in a plane crash. How'd spent the rest of his life trying to make up for something somehow. He talked about the house he wanted to have, with books and a dojo, with a white cat. He wanted a white cat that would come when called and he could hold and pet it and he wanted to make Omi smile. It was so easy now, to talk about all the things he wanted, all the secrets he'd been holding in.  
  
Disgusted, Mindy shoved herself away from the table that he was strapped to. The blond was beyond repair, mostly. "I need more practice," she said with a sigh.  
  
The muscular Russian man who'd been watching made a dismissive sound like an English tsk. "I knew you'd lost it when he stopped screaming. You want me to dump him now?"  
  
She sighed, fingered a flap of skin on his back. "He was so pretty. The pretty ones are always gay. And no, don't dump him. I have a use for him still. Get some good tape, put him up against the missile. And put some pants on him. We'd better do this fast. I'll set up the camera."  
  
"Okie Dokie," the guy said. Youji was still rambling about how he'd like to go swimming with his friends, at night, play some music too loud. He'd like to see Aya smile, like to bring along someone named Aya-chan because then Aya would really smile. None of it made any sense really, all about cats and the kinds of things just an ordinary man would want. Power tools and refinishing a convertible, dancing and maybe having someone one touch him.  
  
Elsewhere....  
  
The rest of Weiss spent the night looking for Youji, looking for the girl he'd found. Dawn comes early in St. Petersburg, to make up for the lack of heat the sun gives, perhaps.  
  
Red eyed, Omi leaned back from the table holding his laptop. "I found her," he said, pressing a finger to the third eye he didn't have.  
  
Ken came over from the bed to take a look. "Hell and damn," he said, fingers flexing in and out of a fist before he turned and put a hole in the wall.  
  
News broke fast in Russia these days. Main story had a lovely photo, woman's head, laying on a bloody white shirt. The card behind it gave a TV channel and a time. Omi grabbed the remote and changed the channel. In big red letters, on a black back ground, a count down was nearing 25. "Twenty five more minutes until we get their new demands."  
  
When fifteen minutes remained, a special carrier showed up at their door. He delivered a package that smelled like blood, but was in a nice white box. It was Omi that opened it, face and fingers pale.  
  
Inside, they found a note card, and a plastic wrapped strip of skin, just a couple cm wide, but nearly a meter long. Omi gagged. Ken laid an arm around his shoulder, and pulled him into a furious embrace.  
  
Aya opened the card. "He is alive. They simply wanted us to be aware of their broadcast. The note says that if we continue to pursue them, they will return Youji to us, pureed, with a video of his last hours."  
  
"I'm gonna kill them," Ken snarled, holding a crying Omi to him. "I am going to kill them."  
  
"It's my fault! I sent him alone!"  
  
Aya gave them both a stern look, then put the box, with Youji's skin into the small cooler under the TV.  
  
The broadcast started with a panoramic vision of St. Petersburg, then London, Washington, San Francisco, Cairo, then to a woman, girl really, short green hair sitting on a stool in front of a dark blue curtain. Her feet were hooked under the rung of the stool, hands holding on to the edge. "Good morning world!" She said, cheerful and brightly smiling. "You want to know where we are? I will give you the address, but," she paused, holding up a hand, not quite washed clean of blood. "First, I have to tell you, if anyone comes anywhere near us, we will set off the missile! And this is no some measly little nuclear missile. It and it's ten sibs are very special! Now do you want to know what I'll do to you if you don't give me what I want, or what I want? Which do you want to know first?"  
  
A groan came from behind her and she smiled, bounced almost on the stool. "I had a playmate last night! He wasn't very cooperative!" She tilted her head and sighed. "I hope you got your package! You should have heard him! When didn't think he could cry anymore and I would have thought giving up a little skin for his friends would have been a pleasure! Aya, I sure hope I get to see you use that sword of yours sometime. He sure seems impressed with you!"  
  
Aya closed his eyes. Ken started rocking Omi slowly, as if taking care of Omi was giving him a vent for the rage within himself.  
  
"Okay. I guess I'd better tell you what I want first, uh?" She laced her fingers behind her head, and a bank account number flashed up on the screen. "This show is being broadcast around the world. I want you to know I'm a very practical person. I LIKE the world as it is, unlike my Aunt and Mom. I don't want to mess with your world, with how you want to treat each other. I'm going right past the stupid governments of the world. That's old world. I want everyone watching to write down my bank account number. Get it right now, because I'm not going to like it if you send my money to the wrong person."  
  
Then she got off her stool, moved to the side of the curtain and lifted the curtain pull. "Now, I don't want you to think I'm a nice person, cuz I'm not. I'm probably going to invite one of you over every month or so. I like to play." She pulled the curtain open a little, just enough to reveal a bruised and carved masculine arm tapped to the nose of a medium sized missile.  
  
Those fingers spasmed and all the rest of Weiss moved a little closer to the screen. "This man, the one tapped to the missile that can take out this city, and another nine like it, he's a good man. He has a really good heart. I get the most interesting things out of people when I start cutting them up, playing with their heads. Him? All I can get out of him is how much he loves some chick named Aya and a guy named Omi. He wants a cat, I want you to know. His mother loved him a lot too, at least he thought so. And Grandma Youji, or Kudou, I'm not sure which is his first name, anyway, you should have been nice to him. Okay, he's bisexual, but he really does care and you made him ashamed of himself, hurt him worse than I did. So I hope you're watching."  
  
She pulled the curtain back more, revealing a man, bruised and bloodied, eyes swollen shut, lips mangled, chest carved with both Aya and Omi's names. Aya sat down in a chair, dropped the letter she'd send them. When Youji's chest rose, taking in a shallow breath, only then did Aya breath, Omi gasp.  
  
"Pretty intense, uh? Maybe if you're good, and the money starts flowing in, I'll show you his back, before I kill him. That's right folks! It's the ultimate in reality TV! Only you can save the world. I want donations, people! Lots and lots of them, to flow right into my account. Start now! Here's a 900 number for you! Five dollars, a hundred Euros, we take it all. The faster the money comes in, the longer I'll let this man live. If I get a 100,000 in the next minute and a half, I'll let him talk to you. Do you want to hear the dying words of this good man? Come on, give!"  
  
Aya turned to find Omi picking up the phone. "Put that down!"  
  
"But Aya, it might keep Youji alive."  
  
"She's already killed Youji. We will not give her money."  
  
Ken jerked the phone cord out of the wall, and Omi dropped to his knees.  
  
The total of donations was fast approaching a quarter of a million already. The girl smiled, put her finger on a bit of loose Youji skin and gave enough of a tug to make him groan and lift his head. "Now, this man, he may have a good heart, but he killed my mother. Which wasn't very nice. Now, this is the start of a new world wide democracy! Here are two numbers. Only $5.95 a call, and you pick. Do you want to see him beheaded, or see him die by the virus that's in the missile. Personally, i want to kill him with the virus, that way you all get a little pre-taste of what happens to those who oppose our democracy! Call now!"  
  
Two more numbers flashed up on the screens, with the vote count for each one. In under five minutes over 100,000 people had chosen a death for Kudou Youji. The girl seemed quite satisfied. "Now, before I finish off this defender of the old world, let me show you my Aunt's boyfriend. He was not a nice man and he made me very angry last night!"  
  
She cued the video and the scene from the night before, when Youji had gotten shot, the big blond man kicking him, his boot on his face. Aya clenched his fists. Then the video cut to the same man, locked in a white room. A mist started to fill the room, and the man covered his face, tried to hide. Very quickly, the mist started to work and a voice over of the girl promising that this footage was very unedited, completely true muffled the man's screaming.  
  
She gave them some technical information that she, nor most of her audience understood very likely, about velociraptors and gene splicing, about how it would be unique for each person. Around the world people watched a blond Russian man transform from a body builder into what was easily recognizable as a demon. It took about ten minutes for bone to shift, wings to grow, eyes to turn blood red, jaws to shift, elongate. The girl's voice over continued, as two new video feeds were thrown up on the screen. One was for a girl, the other a boy, both about sixteen, in pajamas, looking lost and frightened. For only $3.95, the world could vote, which one got fed to her new demon first. But hurry and remember to vote for the one you want SAVED!  
  
Aya buried his hands in his hair. Omi hid his face against Ken's chest. The door to the girl's cell opened. She never even screamed, and the camera cut back to Mindy, leaning against the missile Youji was taped too. "Now wasn't that informative! Better than any class I ever took. Now, see this missile here? It's got about a million doses of that virus in it. That surely wouldn't infect the whole population, but the ones that do get infected will be very happy to eat the ones that aren't? Worse than any scary movie you ever saw, too, uh? Now, if I can just get donations equal to a billion dollars in my main account within the next hour, I'll wait to launch the missiles, until the next time we need to discuss a vote. One little billion, you all ought to be able to do that, right? Keep the demons out of your neighborhood. I am watching where the donations come from too! So if your city is slacking, I'm gonna have to encourage you!  
  
She grabbed a hold of Youji's bloody hair without warning and placed a sticky face mask over his mouth and nose. He sucked air, drew the plastic into his mouth, up into his nose, struggled against the tape. She walked away, just leaving the camera running, the total of the donations climbing.  
  
Aya stood, grabbed his sword, drew it, pushed it back, looked over at a hysterical Omi, a shocked Ken. Youji jerked, his whole body arching against the missile, face blue, and the whole world saw Asuka's ghost lean up against him, her arms out against his, her lips to his. His chest rose. Her fingers tore at the tape, and he fell, hands and knees, the camera following his movements, showing his ruined back. Two deformations, big dark bruises swelled over both shoulder blades, and then, Youji's wings broke through the skin.  
  
Huge black raven wing, sleek with the blood of birth. It was unique to each person, and Youji was a black angel, rising with a graceful strength, wings living, shivering black sculptures to either side of him. When he looked into the camera, his face was unbruised, perfect, but the eyes were a darker green, the dirty blond hair just a little darker, laying around eye cheekbones and a lost expression. The camera feed shut off, leaving only the running total of donations, and the 900 number.  
  
Aya slipped his shoulder holster on, pulled his kantana comfortably against his back.  
  
"Aya," Omi whimpered, "Where are you going?"  
  
"He's alive." That was all he said, as he went out the door. Youji was alive. He was. 


End file.
